


Useful

by mnwood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aromantic Dean, Canon Compliant, Castiel-centric, Episode Tag, M/M, Original Character(s), POV Castiel, Season/Series 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 03:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7082728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnwood/pseuds/mnwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-season 11 finale. All the good things Cas should get in season 12.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Useful

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of Cas girls got mad at me for enjoying the season 11 finale, so I'm offering this fix-it fic as an olive branch. 
> 
> Despite the "canon compliant" tag, this fic alludes to Charlie being alive. Because, like, fuck canon.
> 
> Usually when I write canon stuff, I avoid the shitty plot of the show and fill in the fan fiction gaps. Unfortunately for this fic, I had to come up with my own shitty plot that I could avoid in order to fill in the fan fiction gaps.
> 
> Also I stole like a dozen headcanons from tumblr.......and C.S. Lewis.

Castiel jerks awake at the foot of a roller coaster inside of an enormous amusement park. A small child and her mother scream with joy as their cart flies down the hill.

When he tries to get to his feet, he finds he doesn’t have any. He tries to look down at his hands and finds he doesn’t have any.

It’s been so long since he’s been his true form that he’s completely forgotten what it’s like. He huffs a laugh at the thought. “A long time” to him now is just a few short human years. He doesn’t know how not to be corporeal anymore, so he stays put for a moment and watches the mother and child ride the roller coaster over and over again. 

They are both too young to be here. He wonders what their story is.

“They died in a car crash,” a soft voice says.

Castiel doesn’t so much hear the voice as he does feel it course through his entire angelic form. With his true voice, he responds, “What are you doing here?”

“Technically I’m omnipresent, so—”

“Where is my body?” 

God—Chuck—pauses, his essence swirling around Cas’ hesitantly. After another few moments, light condenses near a concession stand and Chuck Shurley smiles up at him.

“Would you prefer that body over your true form?”

Castiel considers it before answering. “It begs the question which form is ‘true.’ I’ve grown accustomed to the visage of the late Jimmy Novak.” 

The little girl screams particularly loudly. Chuck looks toward the roller coaster. He shoves his hands in his pockets and says, “I didn’t create the concept of soul mates. That was a surprise to me when it started happening between humans. A parent and child, that’s a rare one. Interesting that you were banished here.”

“I thought you were omniscient. How is it possible to surprise you?”

He scratches the back of his neck before looking sheepishly up at Cas. Despite the fact that Castiel quite literally towers over him, he can still see every facial expression and movement down below as if they are equals. “I can’t explain everything.” 

“Why—” Castiel cuts himself off. He feels petulant, but there are things he must know. “Why did you abandon us?”

Suddenly Chuck snaps his fingers, and Castiel is in his corporeal body once again. “The last time you really, truly prayed to me was during the apocalypse. Tell me, Castiel, if we could go back in time would you change anything? Would you like me to answer your prayers?”

Castiel clenches his fists. “You could’ve saved thousands of people’s lives. And angels. You could’ve stopped—”

“Look around you, Cas. Look at this place.”

For some reason, Castiel obeys. The mother and child are now sitting on a bench eating ice cream cones.

“Those two died in a car crash in Minneapolis during a huge storm in 2008.”

“During the apocalypse.”

“Yes, during the apocalypse. The little girl—her name is May—do you know what she was supposed to be? If she hadn’t died during the apocalypse, would you like to know what would’ve happened to her?”

Castiel doesn’t answer.

“The answer is nothing, Cas. There are no alternate endings. The way things happen is how they’re meant to happen, so there’s no point in asking what would’ve happened. There is no ‘what if.’ There’s only what’s real.”

“Did you just quote _The Chronicles of Narnia?”_

Chuck shakes his head and laughs. “You should be angry with Metatron for downloading all that data into your hard drive. That’s not how things are meant to be learned.” 

“You just said that the way things happen is how they are meant to happen.”

With a bright smile, Chuck says, “Now you’re catching on. It’s unfair, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Why don’t you—”

“Change it? I’ve considered it many times over the course of eternity, but I can’t.”

“You can’t or won’t?”

“I won’t. You’d think that a perfect being would be able to create a perfect world, right? Wrong. Everything would be fucked if I meddled in every detail I don’t like.”

There is a part of Castiel that wants to scream at him.  _You could’ve stopped me from trying to become you, you could’ve saved the people I killed, you could’ve stopped Dean from getting the Mark, you could’ve—_

“Yes, I could’ve. But I didn’t.” He places a hand on Cas’ shoulder and squeezes it. “You are exactly where you’re meant to be, Castiel.” 

Everything shifts, and suddenly Castiel is standing alone in a dark, cold forest. He can hear every little creature within a mile radius, can smell every leaf, can taste the rain that stopped pouring less than half an hour ago. His body feels different, heavier. He pulls at the hem of his trench coat and finds—it’s not the trench coat he was wearing when he was banished. It’s his old one. He straightens up and feels his wings fan out.

His wings. Chuck restored his broken grace.

Castiel doesn’t send up a prayer of thanks.

A laugh sounds about two miles away, and it presses such a familiar ache in Castiel’s chest that he flies without even thinking. 

“Cas?”

“Dean,” he responds. He stops himself from pulling Dean into his arms again. Instead, he stands rooted to his spot and says, “You’re not dead.”

Dean drops his head, laughs, and then looks at the woman standing next to him. Castiel had not even noticed her.

“Mary Winchester,” Castiel says dumbly.

“Um,” she says, looking to Dean for guidance.

“Oh, um,” Dean starts, and there’s a rare note of excitement in his tone. “M-Mom, this is Cas. Castiel. He’s my—um, he’s an angel.”

Castiel holds his hand out and feels relieved when Mary immediately takes it. “It’s nice to meet you, Mary.”

Her smile is so bright it hurts. It hurts because she looks just like Dean but with none of the pain, none of the burden. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Castiel.” 

They smile at each other until Dean clears his throat and looks curiously at Cas. 

“How’d you, uh, find us, Cas? I have no idea where we—” 

“God. He sent me here. And he restored my grace.”

Dean’s face flickers through too many emotions to process. “Son of a bitch, Cas, can you fly again?”

“Dean, watch your language,” Mary says affectionately.

Dean drops his head shyly and smiles like a child. “Sorry, Mom,” he mumbles. 

“Yes, I can fly.” Suddenly remembering how he ended up in heaven in the first place, Cas grabs Dean and Mary’s shoulders and flies them to the war room of the bunker.

“Holy shit, what was that?” Mary exclaims, clutching her stomach and looking frantically around the room. 

Dean wraps his arm around her back and smiles fondly. “Language, Mom.” 

“Dean,” Cas says sternly. He’s never seen this version of Dean before. He doesn’t know what to do.

“Hmm?” 

“Sam isn’t here. A woman broke in and immediately banished me. And now Sam isn’t here.” 

Dean’s face hardens as he scans the room. Despite feeling terrified on behalf of Sam, Cas relaxes. This is the Dean he knows how to deal with.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean repeats.

“What—” 

“I gave that idiot my keys.”

Without another word, Dean stalks out of the room. Cas listens to his footsteps for several seconds before determining that he’s heading toward the garage. He’ll pick the silver ’69 Chevy Camaro. When Castiel first started driving the Continental, Dean had taken him to the garage and drooled over the Camaro for 20 minutes before offering it to Cas free of charge.

“You’re an angel, huh?” Mary asks, breaking Cas out of his train of thought.

“I am. Yes.”

“I didn’t think angels were real.”

“But you’ve been in heaven…?”

Mary purses her lips and shakes her head. “I sold my soul, Castiel.”

His heart drops. “You’ve been—have you been in—”

She shrugs. “Only for a couple hundred years. Then I was thrown into some strange—a veil maybe? It was different than when I was a ghost.”

“You were a—”

“Hell did nothing to me, so I suppose whoever’s in charge spit me out and didn’t bother checking where I landed. So, no, I don’t know about angels.” She makes eye contact with him as she casually asks, “Are you Sam and Dean’s guardian?”

“That’s not—there are no such thing as guardian angels. Not how humans describe them.”

“I would describe a guardian angel as, well, an angel that watches over someone. A specific someone. Like it’s their job to look after this one person and make sure they’re OK, but maybe they’d want to watch out for them even if it wasn’t their job because they’ve grown fond of the person. But if you say there aren’t any guardian angels, then I believe you. You’d know better than me, right?” She sighs and pushes her hair behind her ear. “Tell me if I’m being disrespectful, but is it in your power to conjure me up some real clothes? My 30-year-old nightgown is nice, but I certainly can’t hunt in it.” 

“Wait. You’re—what makes you think you’re hunting anything?”

She gives him the same look Dean gives whenever he’s said something dense. “According to you, my son’s been abducted by some woman who knows how to fight angels. So, can you get me some clothes?”

Feeling jarred by Mary’s directness, Castiel chooses not to say anything as he snaps his fingers and conjures a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt.

Despite looking surprised at the sudden appearance of clothing, Mary immediately grabs it and asks where the bathroom is. After Cas points her in the right direction, Dean reappears in the doorway.

“Whoa, hey, where you going?” he asks his mom as he passes her.

“Castiel gave me some clothes to change into.” She endearingly pats his face. “I’ll be right back, sweetie.”

Dean is still smiling when he walks up to Cas, but his face switches back to serious as soon as they make eye contact. “You’re in this with us, right, Cas?” 

Cas squints at him. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean you’re—you’ll help us find Sam, right? I don’t have a clue where he is, and you saw the chick, so—”

“Of course I’ll help you, Dean. Sam is—he’s like a brother to me.”

Dean’s face reddens, and he averts his gaze to the floor. It had been less than 24 hours since Dean had called Cas a brother to him and Sam, and he already appeared to be embarrassed by it. No matter how many times Dean called Cas family or told him how important he was, Cas would always have trouble believing it.

Perhaps because Dean so obviously had trouble believing that Cas would stick around through quite literally anything.

“Well, isn’t this just gonna be one big family reunion,” Dean says sarcastically. “You got any clue where he could’ve gone? Any information about the girl at all?” 

Castiel finds it curious that Dean is so calm. But then Mary comes back into the room, and Dean looks at her like she’s the only person in the world and Cas thinks maybe it’s not so curious that Dean is so calm.

“Honey, do you have an over shirt I can borrow?” she asks Dean.

He immediately bounds toward his room.

Mary smiles at Cas. “Thank you for the clothes.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

“You know, I’ve been thinking this whole time that I’m not actually alive, but I think I might be wrong. I’m starving. I haven’t been hungry since the last time I was alive. Does being hungry mean I’m alive?”

“Probably, yes. Although I’m also alive and I don’t feel hunger. So we might need to reevaluate what it means to be alive.” 

She smiles openly, vibrantly, like nothing Cas has ever seen from a Winchester before.

“Are you worried about Sam?” she asks as she rummages through the cupboards. 

“Yes.” 

“Tell me something, can he hold his own?” 

The answer comes to Castiel without hesitation. “There is nobody on earth more capable than Sam Winchester.”

Mary shuts a cabinet and turns to look at Cas. She opens a bag of Cheetos and says, “But you’re worried about him.”

Cas squints at her.

Dean comes back in and hands a red flannel shirt to his mom. It’s too big for her, so she rolls up the sleeves to her elbows and leaves the buttons undone.

“Cas, you got any leads?” Dean asks as he grabs a handful of Cheetos.

“The sigil she used—” Castiel begins walking toward it. “It banished me to heaven.”

“I thought you said heaven was closed,” Dean replies as he follows closely behind Cas, his shoulder brushing the back of his trench coat as they walk.

“It was. Once balance was restored, the angels changed their minds.”

“Wow, talk about a quick change of heart.”

Castiel bends down to better examine the sigil. Absentmindedly, he says, “You’ve forgotten what angels are like.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “I guess you’re the only angel I know these days.” To his mother, he explains, “Angels are dicks. But Cas—he’s, uh…”

Cas involuntarily turns and gives Dean a questioning look.

The corners of Dean’s mouth quirk up, and he blinks twice as he continues, “Family. He’s family.”

Mary quirks her eyebrow and purses her lips. She looks between Dean and Cas as if trying to assess the situation. Cas clears his throat and turns back toward the sigil.

“I haven’t seen these markings since medieval times,” Castiel explains. “They didn’t survive the Dark Ages.” He stands and faces Dean.

“Uh, so what does that mean? We got somebody from the fucking Renaissance taking Sam hostage?”

 _“Dean,_ language.”

“More likely, we’re dealing with someone who has a vast library. Someone who spends more time reading than hunting.” 

“Like the Men of Letters,” Dean responds without hesitation. 

“The what?” Mary asks. 

Dean turns on his heel and heads toward the library. “Let’s find out who these bookworms are,” he says over his shoulder.

Mary looks to Cas for guidance. “Do you two always blindly follow each other?”

His first instinct is to protest because on a literal level, no, they don’t blindly follow each other. But she’s not speaking on a literal level. “Yes, much of the time we do.”

She follows him to the library. 

“Cas, you got your mojo back, right?” Dean asks determinedly, his head buried in a large tome.

“Yes.” Cas stares at the wall of books and skims through each of them without opening a single one.

“Well, does that mean you’ll hear it if Sam prays to you? Or—how long would it take you to fly around the whole world? Couldn’t you just, I don’t know, pretend like it’s hide and seek?” 

“I don’t enjoy that game. Did you know there was a Women of Letters?”

“What?” Dean and Mary ask in unison.

Castiel pulls a battered leather address book from the middle shelf and flips to the correct page before sliding it over to Dean.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Dean looks up at Cas with wonder in his expression and asks, “Did you read all those books just by looking at them? No, wait. Off topic. Let’s call the Women of Letters.”

If there was any question as to how a Women of Letters could exist without Sam and Dean’s knowledge, it’s answered within a matter of minutes. The phone number in the address book is actually a code that sends them on a chase around the bunker to unlock other codes. Through the process they discover that the Men and Women of Letters must’ve worked closely together 50 years ago, but they split apart for the sake of secrecy.

“Why would they separate by gender?” Mary asks as she and Cas search for a hidden note supposedly buried deep in the walls of the dungeon.

“It seems to me that they started as separate groups, then combined the two, and then split up once again. Or perhaps the Women of Letters was created as a safeguard in case the men were called to war.” 

“My husband—was he really supposed to be a part of all this?”

Castiel feels the slightest movement in the concrete wall and presses his fingers into it. “Yes.”

“Seems a little weird, doesn’t it?” 

She doesn’t continue, so Castiel gives her a confused look. His fingers break through the concrete and discover a carved-out hole in the wall.

“I mean, I’m a hunter and he’s a Man of Letters. Neither of us knew that about each other when we got together. How is that a coincidence?”

The hole is empty, so Castiel knocks against the back of it to see if there’s another hidden hole behind it. It takes him less than a second to determine that it’s solid the rest of the way through. “Your marriage with John was preordained. It was an incredibly important affair. The most powerful cupid brought you two together.” 

“I’m sorry, _what?”_

Castiel stops his search and widens his eyes at Mary. “I—that’s probably not something you wanted to know. It’s not something you’re _supposed_ to know.”

Mary stares at a spot on the floor. Her thoughts are so loud that Castiel has a hard time not listening to them. “Did I ever have any control over my own life? Why am I back? Was that _preordained_ , too?”

“You’re back because your son had such a profound effect on a being as powerful as God that she wanted to give him something in return.” He takes a step toward her. “He taught her the importance of family. That’s why you’re here.” 

Her face softens as she looks up at him. It’s then that Castiel recognizes how young she is. Younger than Sam and Dean both. “Dean said _you_ were family. What did he mean?”

He clears his throat and averts his gaze. “He says that when he needs me. I’m—I’m useful to your sons.”

“I don’t understand. How could Dean teach a being as powerful as God about family if, according to you, his definition is ‘useful’? Does that mean I’m only back so that I can be useful?” She turns toward the wall and knocks her knuckles against it in various places. “Maybe this being believed I could help find Sammy.”

Castiel sighs and joins her at the wall. He is undoubtedly the least qualified person to catch her up on the nuances of Dean’s emotional range. Therefore, he doesn’t say anything else. 

After a few more minutes, Castiel finds another hole in the wall. It has a key inside with a note attached to it. The language is particularly flowery, but Mary figures out that the key opens another hidden compartment in the same wall. As they search for said compartment, Mary continues their conversation. 

“Can you tell me about Sam and Dean?” 

“I’m not sure I understand your question.” 

“I’m treating Dean like he’s 4 because in my mind he’s still 4. But I’m not blind—I can see the years I’ve missed in the lines of his face. So tell me something about him.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I remember him loving pie. I spoiled him to death, gave him pie every day after lunch. Does he still love pie?”

Castiel tries to hide his smile. “Yes, he does.”

Mary laughs softly and squats down to examine a crack where the wall meets the floor. “Come on, what else? The way you two move together, I know you’ve known him for years.” 

He’s too embarrassed to ask what she means. Instead, he says, “Dean is fiercely loyal. Sam is as well. It is both their biggest strength and biggest weakness.”

“I don’t need to know what they’re like as hunters, Castiel. What are they like as _people?”_

He repeats the question in his head several times before coming up with a response. “Dean is brash, a little violent, impulsive. He is quick to anger and slow to forgive, but he is also…kind.” Castiel stops himself from using the word _gentle._ “He cares very deeply about people.”

“Does he know you’re in love with him?”

“Excuse me?” 

She stands back up and leans against the wall. “I’ve actually never met a gay person before. Of course, I’d never met an angel either. I remember the ‘70s being pretty, uh, enlightened. How is it now? Is it a taboo thing that you’re in love with my son?”

Castiel swallows a lump in his throat, which is something that hasn’t happened to him since he was completely human. He doesn’t need to describe Sam and Dean to her. All she needs to do is look in the mirror.

“Cas? It’s OK,” she soothes with a pat to his shoulder and a softness to her green eyes. “We can talk about something else if you’d like.”

For some reason, Cas looks over his shoulder and then back at Mary before saying, “People are more accepting today. Dean’s best friend is a lesbian.” 

“And Dean is…gay, isn’t he?”

“No. Dean is—he is very attracted to women.”

“But you’re…?”

“I am an angel. I don’t have a sexual orientation.” Castiel turns back to the wall and pretends like he’s looking for the hidden compartment.

“OK, but you’re still in love with my son. Does he know?”

“I—”

“Hey, guys. Find anything?” Dean interrupts as he makes his way into the room. He immediately spots the key in Mary’s hand. “That looks like more than I got.”

Mary and Cas give each other pointed looks before Cas responds, “What did you find?”

“Whole lot of nothing. I, uh, checked Sam’s room though. Whoever took him also took all of his phones. They’re all disconnected, so no surprises there. Whatever these dickbags didn’t already know about us, they definitely know now.” He clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “You know, I was gone for less than an hour. How’d you lose Sammy in a fucking hour, Cas?”

“Dean,” Mary says. She places a gentle hand on his arm to make him look at her. “There’s no reason to take your anger out on Castiel. We’ll find Sammy.”

Dean blinks a couple of times, and his anger dissipates like a palpable force in the room. He doesn’t look at Cas as he says, “You’re right. Sorry, Cas. Let’s find out where that key goes.” 

The key opens a compartment buried six feet deep inside the wall, which is strange considering the rest of the wall is not that deep. Inside the compartment is a rock with coordinates etched into its surface.

“Who the fuck do these people think they are?” Dean complains.

Castiel flies to the coordinates the second he finishes reading them.

Of course, he lands in an open field 10 miles outside of the actual coordinates. He flies back to the bunker.

“They have a 10-mile radius of angel warding,” Castiel explains.

“How the hell you know that, Cas?”

“I just tried to fly there." 

The look on Dean’s face is both amused and annoyed. “All right, well, we’ll just have to drive.”

“Wait,” Mary says determinedly. “We’re not wasting all our time driving to a place that we know nothing about other than they _really_ don’t want angels there.”

Dean pulls out his gun and shows it off. “I think we’ll be OK.”

Mary plants her hands on her hips and flattens her lips into a hard line. She looks so much like Sam when he’s frustrated with Dean that Cas has to choke back a laugh. “We just spent hours figuring out clues just to find these people. At the very least, they’re going to require a password.”

“I can fly back here. I won’t be able to go with you all the way, but once you’re inside and know that they want a password or some other clue we haven’t found yet, I can fly back here and search. They’ll never even know. You can pray to me in your head, and I can text you in return.”

“Wow, you really are useful,” Mary says, sounding impressed.

Dean looks between the two of them with a crease in his brow, but then he shakes it off like he doesn’t care enough to ask. “All right, let’s hit the road. Cas, how long of a drive is it?”

He quickly does the math in his head. “Eleven hours.”

Dean says, “Not bad,” at the same time Mary says, “Holy shit, that’s so far.”

“Trust me, we’ve driven a lot farther for a lot less,” Dean explains. “Probably take a few days. Cas, come help me pack. Mom, make a list of things you need.”

All three of them exit the dungeon, but Mary breaks off to go to the library while Dean and Cas head for Dean’s room.

Weirdly, Dean shuts the door once they’re inside.

“Dean, what—”

Cas’ question is muffled by the crook of Dean’s arm. He hugs him longer than an average human hug.

When he pulls away, he pats Cas’ shoulder and says, “I thought, uh—last time I saw you, I thought that’d be the last time I, you know, got to hug—touch you.”

Castiel smiles sadly at him and resists the urge to pull him back in.

“But, uh, you OK?” Dean asks gruffly as he rummages through his closet for a duffel bag. “With your mojo back—is that—do you—you all right with that?” 

“I’m still just me. Just—a little more useful.”

Dean shoves a shirt in his bag a little too forcefully. “So, uh, they’ll probably want you back in heaven, huh?”

“Why would anyone want that?”

“Well, you’re powerful. Pretty sure every archangel is now dead. And Metatron. You’ve talked to God. They’ll be looking for a leader I bet.” 

“Are you—do you want me to leave, Dean?”

“What? No! I’m just saying—do you want to leave? You can, if you need to. I know I said to look after Sam, but you got your wings back. You probably got bigger things to worry about…”

“Dean.” He waits until Dean looks at him. “I’m not going anywhere.” He takes a step forward. “We’re going to find Sam.” 

Dean turns back to his duffel bag and nods. He seems sad, but Castiel cannot figure out why.

“All right, uh,” Dean starts, clearing his throat, “let’s hit the road.”

The Camaro is smaller than the Impala. It smells like new upholstery instead of like Sam and Dean. Castiel sits quietly in the backseat while Dean and Mary fight over the radio.

“Hey, hey, hey, we’re not tainting this new car with anything that’s not classic rock.”

“Oh my _god,_ you sound just like your father.”

“Well, Dad had good taste in music. Sue me.”

“You’re telling me I’ve missed out on 30 years’ worth of music, and you’re not going to let me listen to it?”

Silence fills the car.

Dean changes the station.

“Thank you,” Mary says smugly. 

Half an hour later, Dean and Mary get into a shouting match over Taylor Swift’s decision to release a pop album despite the fact that she’s a country singer.

Castiel considers flying back to the bunker. 

At a gas station in Oklahoma, Dean fills up the tank and Mary heads inside to go to the bathroom. Castiel stands near the trunk and watches cars pass. Dean told him to “stretch out his legs,” which is weird because Cas is an angel and doesn’t need to stretch out his legs. 

“How you feeling, Cas?” He leans back against the trunk next to Cas and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets.

“I’m fine. Would you like me to drive?”

“Nah, I got a couple more hours in me. I can make Mom sit in the back if you want shotgun.”

“I don’t think it’s wise to ‘make’ your mother do anything.”

“Good point,” Dean responds with a small laugh. “You’re not—it’s not weird having her back, right? You comfortable with her around?”

“Of course, Dean. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’m just making sure, man. You’ve just been a little quiet.”

Castiel smiles and doesn’t look at Dean. “You are your mother’s son.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re both a bit loud.”

“I didn’t know she was like that.” Dean shakes his head and stares affectionately at the ground. “The only times I met her—you know, when I met her as an adult—there was so much shit going on that I didn’t really get to know her. Not that there isn’t shit going on now. But—you know what I mean.”

“I do actually. I’ve never seen you this calm when Sam is in danger.”

Dean looks at Cas with wide eyes. “It’s weird, right? I should be freaking out, but I’m not. Why am I not freaking out?” 

“Are you freaking out about not freaking out?” Mary asks as she joins them. “You’re talking about Sam, right? How do you usually respond when he’s kidnapped?” 

Dean and Cas share a pointed look.

“Shit, that was a joke,” Mary exclaims. “How many times has Sam been kidnapped?”

“Let’s just get back on the road, OK?” Dean says sternly as he makes his way to the driver’s side. “We need to find a motel soon unless we’re planning on going into this place on no sleep.”

Castiel considers offering to drive the rest of the way while Dean and Mary sleep, but he thinks better of it. Mary probably hasn’t slept in a real bed since 1983, so making her sleep in the back of a muscle car would be cruel.

Once they get back on the interstate, Mary turns toward Cas and asks, “How’d you get to be such good friends with my boys, Cas?”

“Mom, please—” 

“I raised Dean from hell and was charged with the task of explaining what his role would be in the apocalypse. That was nearly a decade ago.”

Mary smacks Dean on the back of the head hard enough for him to swerve the car. “I _knew_ it! You told me you hadn’t been to hell!”

“Well, excuse me for not wanting to talk about the worst 40 years of my life! I ain’t there now, am I?”

Mary whips back around toward Cas. “Why didn’t you save him sooner? If he was so important in the apocalypse, why leave him in hell for so long?”

“I assure you, Mary, my garrison spent years attempting to rescue Dean. Hell wasn’t as sloppily guarded as it is now. I myself had not been there since the early 14 century.” 

“You never told me that,” Dean says quietly. He makes eye contact with Cas through the rearview mirror.

“We haven’t had much occasion.”

Dean’s eyes shift back toward the road. 

After a beat, Mary continues, “What else haven’t you told me, Dean?”

“Dean and I spent a year in purgatory.”

 _“Cas!”_

That starts another argument. While Dean and Mary yell at each other, Castiel picks at the loose strings around his buttons. He had missed this coat terribly.

It’s almost 2 in the morning by the time they pull into a motel. The lobby is stuffy and smells like syrup, and the concierge looks at the three of them as if they’re the first customers she’s ever seen. Castiel and Mary stand by the elevators while Dean checks them in.

“We never finished our conversation earlier,” Mary says.

“There were a handful of conversations we didn’t finish.” 

They both watch Dean give the concierge a wink and a grin as she takes his cash.

“Are you sure he’s not attracted to men?” Mary asks.

Of all the things Mary’s learned about her son in the past few hours, Castiel cannot believe she is still so curious about this. “No, I’m not sure.”

“Have either of my sons ever been in love? Or been in a relationship?”

“Yes, they’ve both tried. But they would rather hunt.” 

“So, why don’t they date hunters? Or, you know, someone who hangs out with them all the time? Angels are allowed to date, right?”

“I’m not sure you understand—” 

“Oh, trust me, I understand. You and Dean have years of unresolved—” She waves her hand dramatically, “—whatever, and you think you’ll never actually talk about it. The only reason I keep bringing it up is because it’s exhausting to witness.” 

Castiel doesn’t say anything. He watches Dean sign a piece of paper and receive keys to the rooms. He then leans over the counter and says something to the concierge that makes her laugh.

“Sam believes Dean is attracted to men,” Castiel says despite himself. “He’s asked me several times if Dean and I have ever…”

“So _he_ knows that you’re in love with him.” 

“Yes. He does.”

“He does what?” Dean asks as he walks up to them. He looks at Cas as he hands his mom a key.

“It’s not important,” Cas responds.

“All right, uh, Cas and me are in a room right next to yours, OK, Mom?” 

Mary flashes Cas a suspicious smile. “Yes, sweetie, that’s great.” 

“You remember how to set the alarm on the phone I gave you?” 

She rolls her eyes and assures him that she’ll figure it out. 

Once they separate to their respective rooms, Cas reminds Dean that he’s an angel and doesn’t need to sleep. 

Dean just tosses his duffel bag onto the bed closest to the door and says, “Well, what are you gonna do? Stand outside all night? C’mon, Cas, I know you’re capable of sleeping. Just—humor me, all right?” 

Castiel tentatively sits on the edge of the bed. Dean huffs a laugh and heads into the bathroom. In the silence of the room, Castiel can hear a cacophony of sound through the walls. A few people are talking, others are doing other loud activities. The room directly below theirs has a leaky faucet in the bathroom. Castiel takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He can’t remember what it’s like to be human or to be injured enough to require rest. He removes his trench coat and sits back against the pillows.

“Is that a different coat?” Dean asks as he comes out of the bathroom and heads toward his own bed.

“Chuck gave it to me. It’s my old coat.” 

“Shit, you serious? I missed that old thing.” He kicks his boots off and pulls the covers back. “Can’t believe I didn’t notice.” 

Castiel folds his hands over his lap and smiles softly.

“So, uh, try to sleep, all right?” Dean says. “Don’t be weird and, like, watch me all night. I’ll see you in the morning, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Castiel doesn’t sleep. Instead, he blocks out all other sounds and zeroes in on the steady rhythm of Dean’s breathing. Dean would probably think it’s creepy if he knew, but it comforts Castiel in a way he cannot articulate. 

In the morning, Castiel drives. Dean and Mary both seem exhausted from lack of sleep, so they’re much quieter than before. It’s so peaceful in the car that Castiel doesn’t realize they’ve arrived at the Women of Letters’ headquarters until the car comes to a screeching halt outside of the angel warding.

“Well,” Dean says gruffly. “Bye, Cas. We’ll call you when we need you.” 

Castiel gives Dean a small nod and flies straight back to the library of the bunker.

He takes a seat at one of the long tables and stares at the wall of books. If he can read through all of them, he will probably be more prepared to help Dean and Mary.

The prayer arrives quicker than he expected.

_Hey, Cas, need to know the last four digits of the three original Men of Letters’ socials. I have no fucking clue where you’re supposed to—_

“You must be the angel.”

Castiel instinctively spreads his wings as the intruder steps into view. She’s a heavyset black woman with a British accent and a bored stare. She folds her arms over her chest and eyes Castiel up and down.

“I was told you were taken care of,” she continues. “I came here to fetch Dean, not you.” 

Castiel says the first thing that comes to mind. “Dean is dead.” 

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England. Tell me where Dean is, or I’ll clip those fancy wings you’re hiding.”

“What makes you think you can—”

“You’re not the first angel I’ve met, sweetheart,” she says as she pulls out a revolver and counts her bullets. “So you can come quiet, or we can do this the hard way.”

The woman is not a demon, but Castiel is convinced that she must know Crowley. He’s the only one who’s ever melted an angel blade into bullets.

Castiel could probably fly off, but then he would be no help to Mary and Dean. If this woman knows where Sam is being held, then maybe it’s best for him to go with her after all.

“Angel? Did I break you? Earth to Castiel,” the woman says monotonously.

“I’ll go with you.”

The woman grins and shoves her gun back into her jeans. She leads Castiel outside as if she’s been to the bunker hundreds of times and knows it better than he does. 

There’s a rental car parked under the brush just off the road. The woman looks at it for a second before asking Castiel if he can just fly them to their location.

Strange as this abduction may seem, Castiel tells her that he can.

“Great. I need you to fly us to London. Oh, see, that look you’re giving me tells me that Dean Winchester is alive, sweetheart. You’re trying to figure out how to tell him that you’re flying halfway across the world.”

_Cas? Where the hell are you, man? Fucking call me already._

The woman sighs and plants a hand on her hip. “Either tell me where the other Winchester is, or fly—”

Cas grips her shoulder and takes off.

They land just outside of the angel warding at the Women of Letters’ headquarters.

“What the fu—” 

Castiel disarms her and removes the bullets from her gun before she can finish her sentence. He then places a hand on her forehead and knocks her unconscious.

He really missed being able to do that.

He fumbles for his cellphone, which is ridiculous because he’s an angel and shouldn’t have to fumble for anything.

“Cas? What the hell, man! We’ve been—”

“Dean. I know where Sam is.” 

Dean hangs up without another word.

Nearly an hour passes before the Camaro screeches to a halt in front of Cas and the unconscious woman. Castiel doesn’t bother with the door as he flies into the backseat. Mary and Dean are both out of breath, and their clothes are soaked with blood. Castiel can tell by the smell that it’s not theirs.

“You mind explaining what the hell happened, Cas?” Dean asks angrily as he speeds down the empty country road.

“If you’re willing to ditch the car, I have an address.” 

“What?”

“This woman trusted that I would care more about finding Sam than about escaping. Additionally, I don’t think she wanted to travel with me for upwards of 24 hours.”

“OK, seriously, _what?”_

“Sam is in London.” 

 _“What?”_ Dean and Mary ask in unison.

“This woman believed that I would fly her there, so she gave me the address.”

Dean pulls the car over and looks in the rearview mirror at Cas. “That doesn’t sound like the Women of Letters’ M.O.”

“I don’t think they’re Women of Letters, Dean. That was a lead we followed simply because we had nothing else.”

They leave the unconscious woman in the car as they all step out into the grass.

“She could probably give us some answers,” Dean says, looking into the back window. “Why don’t you wake her up and intimidate her a little?” 

Castiel squints at Dean to assure him that he disapproves of torture, if that’s what Dean is suggesting. “I know nothing about this woman besides the fact that she had a gun full of bullets made from an angel blade. I have no idea what else she could be capable of.” 

“All right, well, what if this address she gave you is a trap? You’d rather fly into a place blind than risk talking to a dangerous person?”

“Boys,” Mary says sternly. “I would really like to see my youngest son, if it’s all the same to you.”

Dean and Cas look at each other.

Cas grabs the woman out of the car and flies all four of them to London.

It’s a trap.

Castiel is stuck in a practically prehistoric binding spell, and Dean is immediately hit with a Taser and carried off by three very large women. 

Mary is nowhere to be seen. Castiel panics for a brief moment, wondering if he accidentally left her on the side of the road in Arkansas.

“Ah, Castiel,” says a tall woman with dark brown skin and jet-black hair pulled back very tightly. “Would you be a doll and wake Davey up from the sleep you’ve put her in? I need to have a word with her.”

“What are you going to do to—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” She waves a well-manicured finger in his face. He can almost taste the acrylic of her fake nails. “No questions, angel. You will do as you’re told, and maybe I’ll let you see your favorite toys." 

Castiel doesn't respond.

The woman stares at him curiously, but she doesn’t say anything. She clearly expects Castiel to continue protesting, but instead he sighs and snaps his fingers to wake the woman—Davey—up. 

Davey immediately reaches behind her for her gun, but it only takes a moment for realization to dawn on her. She tilts her head down and puffs out her chest at Cas, and he suddenly feels very small. 

“Oh, please, Davey, don’t look so upset,” the tall woman says with a note of amusement in her voice. “He brought the other Winchester here, just as you suspected he would.”

Castiel closes his eyes and imagines how Dean will react when he confronts him about yet another foolish decision he’s made.

“I’ll take him downstairs,” Davey says coldly without breaking eye contact with Cas. “When do we find out what to do with them?”

“All in due time, Davey.” 

Downstairs is a prison where the lights are too bright and the walls too white. The cells are just normal rooms with four walls and a door. Davey shoves Castiel into one covered in every type of warding imaginable. It’s suffocating.

“Cas? That you?”

Castiel slumps against the wall and tries to curl up to avoid touching too many of the sigils. “Dean,” he responds quietly.

On the other side of the wall, he hears Dean stand and take five steps forward. He presses his hand against the wall before removing it and taking one step back. It was definitely something Castiel was not supposed to hear.

“Told you it was a trap,” Dean says childishly.

“I was blinded by my need to help Sam. I’m sorry for making such a stupid decision.”

Dean laughs. “Yeah, like I can get mad at you for doing something I’ve been doing for 30 years.”

They’re silent for a while. Cas hears Dean put his back against the wall and slide down until he’s sitting on the floor. Technically, they’re sitting back-to-back. 

“Any clue where Mom is?”

“I never saw her,” Cas responds. He feels a sense of dread once again at the thought that he could’ve accidentally abandoned her. 

“Whose house do you think this is? It’s a fucking mansion.”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think Sam is here.”

“What? What makes you say that?” 

“I know his…soul well enough to be able to feel it even in a building this large. Of course, warding could have an adverse effect.” 

A beat passes before Dean asks, “Can you feel mine?”

“Your soul?”

“Yeah. You know—like—can you—do you feel it—right now?”

The warding around him doesn’t feel so oppressive anymore. “I do.” 

Dean clears his throat and inhales as if he’s about to speak. His mouth closes and then opens again. He says, “How you feeling, Cas? This whole Lucifer thing—did you—are you—” 

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to ask me.”

“I, um. Crowley said you were pretty checked out at one point. Did you—were you lucid? Like riding shotgun in your own body?”

“It was very painful at first. He wanted me to feel locked inside my own body, so he made me see everything.” Castiel searches the deep recesses of his mind to recall what it was like. It feels like it didn’t actually happen to him, that he just watched it happen to a character on a television show. “But after a while, he left me alone. He stopped caring. When Crowley came to me, I didn’t care what was happening. It wasn’t until I felt God’s presence that I decided to rejoin the fight.”

“You, uh, knew that God was back, huh?”

“I did.”

“We—Lucifer got to talk to God. Were you—” 

“I was there.”

Dean runs a hand through his hair. “Were you pissed you didn’t get a swing at him?”

“No. I wanted nothing to do with him.”

“So when he found you in heaven—”

“He trapped me into a conversation with him.”

“Why didn’t you want to talk to him?”

“He didn’t talk to _me_ when _I_ needed him to.”

“Huh.”

Castiel clenches his jaw. “What?”

“I knew you were mad, but I didn’t realize you were _that_ mad. Even Lucifer agreed to have a conversation with the guy.”

Castiel wants to argue, but he realizes that Dean’s tone is not accusatory so much as it is impressed.

Dean continues, “Good for you, Cas. I’m proud of you.”

There are footsteps above them that sounds strangely familiar. He strains to hear breathing patterns or whispers, but whoever is walking around upstairs does not say anything.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says suddenly. “I didn’t even think about—I should’ve known you wouldn’t want to be around God. I shouldn’t have let him in the bu—” 

“Dean. I allowed you to believe that Lucifer was me for months. You don’t need to apologize.” 

“That wasn’t your fault. You’re not really blaming yourself for that, are you, Cas?”

He doesn’t answer. 

Dean’s head knocks back against the wall. “The good thing is that Lucifer is gone. And you’re safe. You’re with—you’re not alone.”

“We’re imprisoned, Dean.”

“That’s not the—never mind. We good?”

“Yes, we’re good.”

Sometimes Castiel feels like he and Dean are having two different conversations. Sometimes he feels like neither of them ever say what they actually mean to say.

But he doesn’t know what he means to say. He doesn’t know.

A voice carries down the hallway, and Castiel recognizes it as the tall woman. As she approaches his cell, she brandishes a pair of handcuffs and smiles warmly at him.

“You’re probably wondering where we learned all of our angel-trapping tricks, aren’t you?” she asks smugly.

“It’s crossed my mind,” Castiel concedes. 

“We’re _very smart,”_ the woman says facetiously as she locks the handcuffs onto his wrists. “Luckily your boyfriend is human, so we don’t have to worry about any of these silly sigils.” She guides Castiel out of his cell and toward Dean’s. “All we have to do is tell him that we’ll put a bullet in his little brother’s brain if he steps out of line, and that should make him behave.”

 _That’s ridiculous,_ Castiel thinks as he looks down at his handcuffs. _The same thing would’ve worked on me._

“What’s your name, lady?” Dean asks calmly. 

Despite the threat the woman just made, she still ties Dean’s hands behind his back and puts a gun to his side as they walk toward the stairs. “Myra.”

“I thought you went by your last names,” Castiel says stupidly.

“That’s just Davey. Anything else you’d like to know about us before we put you on trial?” 

“On trial?” Dean asks gruffly.

“Oh, don’t act surprised, Dean,” Myra says as they ascend a second staircase. “After all the things you’ve done in the—”

“No, no, that’s not why I’m surprised,” Dean interrupts. “I’m just wondering why you’re putting us on trial at all. Spoiler alert, but you’re gonna find us guilty and the penalty should probably be death. So why not just kill us?”

Myra stops and turns a scathing look on Dean.

He raises his eyebrows and flashes her a goofy grin. 

“I was warned about you,” Myra whispers, her face just inches from Dean’s. “But people said you had grown serious in recent years. That you weren’t an immature little boy anymore.”

Dean bounces his shoulders and exclaims, “Surprise!”

Castiel squints at him.

When Myra opens the door to the third floor, several things happen at once. 

First of all, a window to their left explodes and it shatters along with a chunk of the brick wall.

Second of all, a familiar voice shouts, “Dean! To your right!” before a knife slides across the floor and is caught under Dean’s boot.

Third of all, a woman puts an angel blade to Castiel’s neck. 

“Don’t do it, Toni,” Sam’s voice booms across the room. 

The blade presses harder against his throat. 

“Nobody listened to me,” the woman, Toni, says from behind Cas. “I told them not to underestimate you, and now look where we are. I told you that Castiel wasn’t our biggest problem, Myra!” 

Toni and Myra get into a shouting match, so Castiel takes the opportunity to assess the situation. Davey and three other older women are on all sides of the room with their guns drawn. Two other young women are hiding behind furniture, ready to attack at a moment’s notice if need be. Sam has a gun as well despite the fact that yet another woman is pointing a gun directly at his head. Dean manages to use the knife to untie his binds, but that’s as far as he’s gotten. Castiel has no idea how or why the window exploded.

Eventually a few of the other women join the argument as well. When the noise gets so loud that not even Castiel can decipher what any of the voices are saying, Dean shouts at the top of his lungs, “Who the _fuck_ are you people?”

They all go quiet for three seconds before ignoring Dean and resuming their argument. Dean looks at Cas with a hard expression and mouths, “Fuck this,” before punching Myra in the face. 

Gunshots ring through the room, and Castiel can feel the blade slicing into his neck. Before his grace can pour out, however, the blade is knocked out of Toni’s hand and slides across the room and under a couch. Someone shakes Castiel’s handcuffs, and he turns to find Mary Winchester staring intently down at his hands.

“Mary, how did you—” 

“Who the hell are you?” Toni screams as she fumbles for her gun. Her lip is bleeding profusely, and a bruise is swelling on her left cheek.

“I’m the Winchester you apparently forgot about. Are you guys Women of Letters? I didn’t think there was a British chapter.” As she speaks, Mary disarms Toni and chucks her gun clear through the broken window. “Where are the goddamn keys to these cuffs?”

Toni swings a fist at Mary, but Mary easily bobs and weaves and lands a hook to Toni’s ribs. She’s a far better fighter than Sam or Dean.

A crash sounds from Sam’s side of the room, and Castiel turns just in time to duck out of the way of a woman charging at him. Dean is crouched next to the couch trying to cobble together a gun, and Sam is fighting off two women attempting to restrain him. Nobody seems to be dead despite the fact that they all seem to be killing each other.

Castiel takes a moment to examine his handcuffs before he hears the _schink_ of an angel blade being picked up off the floor. He spins around and holds his hands up. Davey slices right through the chain between the cuffs. She stares at Cas’ hands with her mouth open like she can’t believe the mistake she just made. 

Castiel grabs Sam, Dean and Mary and flies back to the bunker.

Mary swings at the air and stumbles before realizing that she no longer has anybody to fight.

Dean drops the gun he was holding and lets out a frustrated breath. 

Sam looks around the bunker as if he’s never seen the place before.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel greets. “My grace has been fully restored.”

Sam’s eyebrows knit together. He looks Cas up and down as if trying to see the differences. “Is that your old trench coat?”

“Sammy, how’d you—how’d you escape?” Dean asks, panting. 

Sam points at Mary. “Mom found me. Of course, I thought I was hallucinating and almost got us both killed, but I guess we turned out all right. We thought we'd have to jump through that window to escape. Honestly, we had no idea where they took you guys and probably would've left without you.” 

Sam and Mary smile fondly at each other.

With a few quick strides, Dean is across the kitchen and yanking Sam into his arms. Sam laughs and pats his back, but Dean doesn’t let go right away.

“Sorry it took us so long to find you,” he says.

“It’s OK. I learned a lot about those women while I was there. They’ll be back, by the way. Probably within 24 hours. We need to think of a game plan.”

Dean lifts his head to the ceiling and sighs. “Yeah, OK. Um.”

They all look at each other. A strange unease fills the room. Castiel cannot pinpoint what it is until Dean speaks again.

“You know what? Cas and I will start thinking up strategy. You and Mom can…”

Sam looks at Mary again, a little more sadly this time. “Yeah. Thanks, Dean.”

With one more pat to Sam’s back, Dean heads out of the kitchen. He gestures for Cas to follow, but they don’t go to the library or the war room. They go to Dean’s room.

“Sam’s never really met Mom,” Dean explains as he takes a seat on the edge of his bed. “And she doesn’t know him at all. So, uh, let’s just give them a few minutes.”

Castiel makes an aborted movement toward the bed. Dean looks at him and clears his throat. Castiel tries to move again. This time he successfully sits next to Dean.

“Do you think God powered you back up as a joke? ‘Cause he knew you were about to face a bunch of women who know how to fight fully-powered angels?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.” Castiel takes a deep breath and straightens his back.

“I liked those women.”

“I did, too. Perhaps our strategy should be attempting to make peace with them. Their fighting skills need work.” 

Dean laughs and bends over to place his elbows on his knees. “I don’t think they were Women of Letters. Maybe we should try getting in touch with the Women of Letters again to see if they can help us.” 

“I don’t think they want to be found. You never even told me what happened when you went there.”

"Uh, long story. Honestly I might not have made it out of there without Mom. She kicks ass."

"Mm. She's very useful."

Dean turns a skeptical look on Cas. "Useful?"

"Well, yes. She singlehandedly rescued Sam. We would still be—"

"Yeah, but you think I want my mom here just because she's  _useful?"_

"Isn't that—is that not how you see _me?"_

Suddenly Dean’s nose is knocking into Cas’ nose and his hand is digging into Cas’ thigh and his lips are seeking Cas’ lips. 

A sensory overload is on the verge of happening, so Cas shuts everything down and zeroes in on Dean’s lips.

Dean’s lips, Dean’s lips, Dean’s lips. 

He moans into the kiss and presses his knuckles into Dean’s hip. Dean is shy and gentle, but Cas is impatient and surges forward until Dean nearly falls backward onto the bed. He catches himself, however, and pushes right back. Cas bristles and allows himself to be moved.

They kiss for so long that Cas doesn’t notice when his senses come back online. He can feel the air flowing through the room and can hear the dripping faucet of the sink in the corner and can smell the gunpowder under Dean’s fingernails.

But the only thing he can taste and feel and do is kiss. 

It’s Dean who pulls away with a shiver and a long exhale. Before Cas can stop himself, he leans forward and noses at Dean’s neck. Dean laughs softly and wraps an arm around his back.

“Dude, come on. Don’t be weird,” Dean says awkwardly. After a pause, he continues in a gentler tone, "No, I don't keep you around because you're useful."

Cas pulls away to give Dean a curious look. “You said I was your brother.” 

“Uh…”

“I was disappointed when you said that.”

“What? Why?” Dean’s brow furrows, and he scans Castiel’s face in search of an answer.

“Why did you just kiss me?”

Dean runs a hand through his hair and averts his gaze. “Fuck, I don’t know. I-I’ve been wanting to do that for, I don’t know, for fucking ever. I don’t know—just felt like the right time.” In a much smaller voice, he says, “You’re not—please don’t leave.” 

“What makes you think I would leave?”

Dean shrugs and stares down at his hands.

“Dean.” He waits until Dean looks at him. “Two days ago I asked if I could go with you into certain death. A year ago I promised to stay by your side even after you’ve burned the world to the ground. How could you possibly believe I belong anywhere other than right here by your side?” 

Once again, Dean’s eyes roam over Cas’ face. He swallows thickly before shaking his head and laughing. “I’m so damn stupid.”

“You are.” He heaves a sigh. “Which means I need to make this abundantly clear to you: I’m in love with you.”

Dean closes his eyes and frowns. “I was afraid you’d say that.” 

“Dean?”

“Why were you disappointed when I called you my brother?”

Cas suddenly feels like he’s fundamentally misunderstanding something human. He carefully chooses his next words. “I just told you that I’m in love with you. That’s different than being a brother.”

“Yeah, but—it’s not—I don’t—I’m not good with the whole…love thing. Brother’s best I got.” 

“So when you were telling me that I’m your brother…” 

“I was telling you that I—you know, that I, like, that I—”

Castiel smiles fondly at him and grabs his shoulder. “You don’t have to say it, Dean. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to go back to kissing you.”

A blush creeps onto Dean’s cheeks, and he shuts his eyes in embarrassment. “Don’t—can we not—let’s not—” 

Cas cuts him off with a chaste kiss. “You don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean nods and leans back in for a not-so-chaste kiss.

An hour or so later, Castiel stares up at the ceiling and lazily runs his hand up and down Dean’s back. Dean is snoring softly against Cas’ chest, and the trench coat is draped over him like a blanket. Despite the fact that he's an angel, Cas’ lips tingle from overuse. 

Footsteps pad down the hallway, and Castiel whispers for Mary to come in before she’s even knocked.

Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open in an excited smile as she peeks her head through the door. She gives Cas a thumbs up.

“I knew it,” she whispers.

“Where’s Sam?” he whispers back. 

“Library. So you went for it?”

Castiel doesn’t quite understand her question, so she gestures between him and Dean.

“Oh,” he says awkwardly. “Technically Dean went for it.”

She silently claps her hands together and excuses herself from the room. He wonders if she’s going to tell Sam.

 

* * *

 

Castiel wakes with a start and finds that he’s alone.

He’s an angel, why would he need to sle— 

His heart sinks. Was it all a dream?

_Is Dean even alive?_

But he’s in Dean’s room. He’s alone in Dean’s bed, and there is a coat trapped beneath him. He rolls over and picks it up with both hands.

His old coat. Real. 

He hears voices filtering in from the kitchen.

“I told you, sweetheart.” 

“How’d you know?”

“Mothers always know.”

“What if I can’t—what if I’m not any good at this? What if I don’t…you know, love him right.”

It takes Mary a long time to answer. “Did you get shot with a cupid’s arrow?”

“What? No. Why would you—" 

“Then you love him perfectly. I’m proud of you, Dean.”

It’s quiet for several minutes. Castiel stands in the hallway debating if he should make his presence known yet. 

Eventually Mary says, “Imagine how much sooner you two could’ve gotten together if I had been alive all this time.”

"Yeah," Dean says with a laugh. "You sure are useful."

**Author's Note:**

> My beta, [Jessie,](http://saywhatjessie.tumblr.com/) has informed me that Mary probably didn't canonically go to hell but I've always liked the idea that she did sooooooooooo
> 
> I'm [deancasheadcanons](http://deancasheadcanons.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, and [this is my website.](https://maddmadeshop.com/)


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